Am I Crazy? I Might End Up Crazy
by ko-drabbles
Summary: You say that right here, But then give it a year. Or 10 years, or a life, I could end up your wife; Sitting staring at walls, Throwing shit down the stairs, Freaking out at the store, Running nude down the street, Bleeding out in the bath-
1. Mommy?

Kyoya sighed as he walked down the hallway, nose still in his book despite Tachibana's warnings of "you're going to fall and crack your head open". He just wanted to finish this chapter, but he also needed to go to dinner with his father. He'd pouted, kicked up a little fuss, resorted to puppy dog eyes, but Hota still shoved him out of his room with promises of extra desert if he did as he was told.

It wasn't that he hated his family. His father scared him a little, but he liked his mother well enough, even if he barely saw her. He loved Fuyumi. It was just more… detached. He didn't really know his parents or brothers, after all. His bodyguards were his dads, really; but they weren't the ones he had to have dinner with.

"TACHIBANA!"

The yell caught him off guard, definitely his father's voice, and he took off running, towards the bathroom. He dropped his book in the process, but didn't care as a skidded around the corner, only to be faced with a horrific sight.

His mother was splayed out on the ground, blood everywhere, his father frantically asking her to stay awake as her eyelashes fluttered. The slashes along her arms were deep, crimson still spilling despite his father's attempts to stop it. All he could do was stare. Stare at the blood, his mother's sickly pallor and greasy hair, his father's tears. He was scared but, in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but think how human his father looked in that moment. Sick, but true.

Tachibana came running, a shocked look on his face as he took in the scene, grabbing the walkie talkie from his belt to call Hota and Aijima and falling to his knees next to his father. He picked up a towel, trying to help him stem the bleeding, and Kyoya felt like he was more watching a drama on television than anything else.

"Kyoka… Come on Kyoka, stay with us… Stay with us…" He father murmured, shoulders shaking, and it was only then he found his voice.

"Father… T-Tachibana…" He nearly whispered, and it was then that he realised he was shaking too. The two men's heads snapped up almost comically, and their horrified glances made him squirm. It was his mother, but it was a scene he was never supposed to witness.

This wasn't her. She breezed into a room and commanded attention. She wore tight dresses and flirted with other men, and she always laughed like she heard the funniest thing in the world. She patted his head and called him her baby boy. He loved her and, without her, he only had his dear bodyguards and Fuyumi.

"Aijima, take Kyoya to his room," Tachibana instructed, still going about his work as Hota called the hospital. Aijima's hand rested on his shoulder, and the trance was broken.

"No!" He screamed, trying to run forward, but Aijima grabbed his arm. He fought against the hold, twisting and kicking out, "Mommy! Mommy, I need her! I need you, mommy! Please! Please, mommy!"

In the end, Aijima just picked him up and carried him off. Kyoya still fought, still kicked out, but he was only nine; he wasn't going to get out of Aijima's expert hold. He eventually just tired himself out, the older man placing him on the sofa and sharing a sombre silence.

"Aijima… Is mommy going to die?" He asked, small and frightened.

Aijima didn't answer.


	2. That Menhera

A party always seemed to grate on his father's nerves, for as long as Kyoya could remember. He'd straighten the decorations, move around the house like he had nowhere else to be, trying to keep himself occupied. He wouldn't really speak unless spoken to, but it wasn't like that was unusual for him; a man of next to no words, only commandments.

His mother, like the little socialite she was, would spend hours getting ready; a beautiful dress that, according to her, clung in all the right places, beautifully tousled hair, perfect makeup. He pouted at Tachibana when the older man refused to let him wear one of his princess dresses, stating that little boys didn't wear those to formal events. Still, his mother was so beautiful in those moments; he wanted to share in that.

This, though? He hated.

She was clearly drinking a lot, which his father told her not to do because of the pills she had to take. She was stumbling in her heels, giggling and letting the first thing she thought of slip passed her lips; she even rolled up her sleeves, complaining that it was hot, showing off the crisp bandages that wrapped around her forearm.

He was young, but bright; he knew what being drunk was and that his mother liked it a little too much sometimes. She usually just hung on other men's arms, making his father grit his teeth and look away; but this was different. She was beautiful and charming, what he wanted to be when he grew up, but now her tongue was sharp, and he could see the discomfort on the guests' faces. His father was running around, attempting to do damage control and just _catch up to her_.

 _"Ootori-san is trying his best, but I think that **menhera** is too far gone_," He heard one woman murmur to her husband, and his fists clenched at his sides. Yes, his mother was sick, but that didn't mean they had the right about talk to her like that – like a freak.

His father had caught up, it seemed; he snatched the glass from her hand and she gave him a look that Kyoya had come to associate with " _Aren't you being too uptight, Yoyo-kun_?". He didn't know why his mother called his dad Yoyo, but something she'd said on one occasion – before Tachibana put his hands over Kyoya's ears – was that his father was a fan of going down, but it took a little effort to get him up. He had no idea what that meant, but he was explicitly told not to repeat it.

"Kyoka, you should go lie down," His father suggested, voice hard and warning, his eye twitching slightly as it did when he was annoyed. He was worried also, yes, but did he have to be so harsh with her? Tachibana would say that she was sick and, when he had the flu, Tachibana had given him hot soups and basically been at his beck and call – not acting like that.

Or, maybe, this came under something he was _too young to understand_.

"It's fine, it's fine!" His mother laughed, high and jarring. She stumbled into his father, who luckily caught his taller wife, and he looked… scared.

"Kyoka, I really think you should –"

"It's fine! Next time I slit my wrists, I won't fail!" She asserted, a smile that felt creepy and just _wrong_ stretching her red painted lips. But then she was quiet, slack in her husband's arms, and he stumbled to adjust to her weight; her face was still holding a smile, but it was melancholy, and her eyes shone with tears, "You won't have to deal with me anymore…"

Kyoya almost flinched when he heard his mother say that, mind skipping back to the sight of her in the bathroom, bloodied and pale. She was in hospital for a week, and she was thinner than he'd ever seen her; much to her dismay, according to Fuyumi. He didn't want to lose her, she was the one who loved him. He loved her in return, soaking up the attention when she came to lavish gifts on him, calling him her _beautiful boy_ and ruffling his hair. He didn't want to lose that.

Despite how selfish it was, Kyoya didn't want to be stuck with **him**.

"Kyoka… You know I don't want that," His father murmured so, so softly, trying to prop her back up on her feet as if she were a mannequin, "Come on, Shiragiku; you need to rest."

He sounded more tired than anything, fed up with the situation he was in. A wife who was sick and a spare tire of a son who only seemed to get under his feet, who was an accident. Akito might've been annoyed with him at the time, but that didn't mean his words were any less true. He felt sorry for everyone in this family, the grief seemed to corrupt and decay everyone, and he could only wonder if he'd one day grow up and find he couldn't smile.

Yuuichi worked himself to the point of fainting, Akito had a temper, Fuyumi was a doormat, his father was too stern and too close to giving up, and his mother was sick. What was going to be his fate? Was he going to be miserable when he grew up?

His father led his mother away, the stares and awkward silence slowly receding to be replaced by polite conversation once more. He was just left standing there, eyes stinging, wondering if misery actually was genetic and he was doomed to live like _an Ootori_ in that regard.

"Hey, crybaby," Akito huffed, Kyoya's tearful eyes looking up to see him standing straight in front of him, "If you're going to do that, then go to bed. We don't need another one of _those_ , y'know."

"I'm not a -!" He began to yell, but his brother's glare cut him off. No one really stared at him, but a couple of whispers were enough to shut him up. As much as he didn't want to admit it… Akito was right. If his mother was sick, the rest of them had to be well to balance their reputation… right? He couldn't make a scene after that, it'd be unsightly, and he didn't want to make Akito more irritated than he already was.

"Okay…" He almost whispered, head hung low as he trudged up the stairs, all by himself. He tried to pretend that he didn't spend an hour struggling to breathe as he thought of being like _any_ of his family. Tried to assure himself that he had Kanan and Kuze, and they were good friends who he loved. He wouldn't be miserable as long as he had them.

He still cried himself to sleep, however.

* * *

 **A/N: Yoshio's nickname for Kyoka is the Japanese for white chrysanthemums, and it's actually somewhat dark for him to call her that; the meaning of the flower in Japan can be associated with truth or death, and is the most common funeral flower. It fits her, but still...**


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